Night Terrors
by YoullJustHavetoDeal
Summary: Jack Winchester is a young hunter contemplating a solution of the crossroads to get his older brother out of Hell, but with the appearance of Eva Lightner, a girl with nightmares in which he is the star, he comes to realize that higher beings than demons may be at work.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hey everyone. This is my new story, also a Supernatural fanfiction, and I couldn't wait to publish it. It's just . . . I'm so excited about it oh my gosh. Okay, I hope you all enjoy it.**_

_**I do not own Supernatural.**_

**1**

Burning.

The sensation flows down my throat with the alcohol as I sit here. I can't help but think of him, think of my older brother.

My older brother. _Dead._

Dean is _dead_.

I clench my hand around the glass and take another swig, grimacing at the taste. It didn't make the pain go away; I knew it didn't. The alcohol doesn't even make me forget the pain.

It just keeps me from processing it properly until I'm sober again, and that's all I ask for. Just a little relief from this torment.

_My brother is dead_.

I feel the bile rise in my throat and tears at the back of my eyes, and I'm suddenly pushing the stool out from behind me and making my way towards the men's. I shove past the people in the crowded bar, grimacing at the loud country music blasting over the speakers.

_He's gone, Jack._

I choke as I shove the door open, but I try to disguise it as a cough. The last thing I need is to draw attention to myself by having a full-out mental breakdown. The stall door is cold against my heated palm, and the tile of the bathroom floor is hard and rough on my knees.

Maybe there's a spell. Maybe I could bring him back. A deal? Could I make a deal? Sam had left his body unburned.

His body. The body that was shredded to ribbons by hellhounds.

Vomit is suddenly spewing from my mouth into the porcelain basin in front of me. If I bring him back through a deal, his body will be healed, but a spell . . . I had no clue. And demons probably aren't too keen on losing a Winchester, even if they get another in return.

I unroll some of the toilet paper beside me and wipe vomit off of my mouth. Then I throw the soiled tissue into the toilet, following with a flush. Slowly, I stand up and turn to wash my hands in the sink outside of the stall.

The fluorescent lights of the bathroom somehow blind me, so I ignore them, washing my hands quickly. I splash a bit of water on my face, feeling the cool drops bring me back to sobriety. The music still blasts in the bar, filling the bathroom with a continuous buzzing sound.

I would make a deal. There's no hurt in trying, especially if it would get my brother back, tear him away from his suffering.

I dry my hands with a paper towel and then exit the stinking restroom, making my way back towards the bar. I'm quick to pay the bill and start out towards my car.

The rain slapping the pavement is the first thing I notice once I walk outside. Even though it's May, the April showers still haven't seemed to quite grasped the whole picture. I let a grimace slip across my lips and start towards my car — a '78 Firebird that I'd gotten from Bobby after . . .

I feel my stomach drop to my toes at the thought of Bobby and of Sam. I wouldn't go see Sam. Maybe I would call him, but if I went to see him, he would catch on. I would go to see Bobby, though. Just one last time.

I reach for my keys in my pocket, but I'm interrupted by a noise from behind the bar. The thuds of skin against skin reach my ears, and I almost ignore it, pulling my key out and jamming it into the slot.

_Probably a bar fight taken outside._

"Leave me alone!" a voice cries from the scuffle, and I tense, noticing its feminine sound. The rain — or maybe a hand — muffles her next words, but a few come out clearly. " . . . don't know _anything_. I . . . Help!"

I'm moving towards the noises before I can even think about what I'm doing. Another thud sounds, followed by a yelp.

I turn the corner, laying my eyes on the sight in front of me. A girl being pulled up to a kneeling position by the hand tangled in her silver-dyed hair. Her hands are out at her assailant, pushing and shoving at him as he jerks her head back and forth. I quickly notice her black eye and bruised forearms. Her busted lip is also a sign of the treatment she's been given.

"Hey!" I yell, my voice gruff from the flaring anger and alcohol, but my mind now completely sobered up.

The jerking stops, along with the man's muttered threats, and his eyes turn towards me, flashing pitch black for only a second. "Ah, a Winchester," the demon sneers. His gaze moves back down to the girl, and he pulls her to a standing position. She's slightly slumped, out of exhaustion, I would imagine. Still holding her by her hair, the demon spits his next words into her face. "Looks like I won't be needing you after all."

The next thing the girl does shocks me to the core. She doesn't scream, doesn't cry. No, she spits in his face.

My eyes widen, and an exorcism is soon leaving my lips. She has no idea what she's doing; she'll be dead.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas," I start, and the demon drops the girl, her body making thudding noises on the pavement and splashing water in the puddle she landed in. I soon hear her scrambling back towards the wall of the bar.

The demon's eyes flash back to a human color, and I catch the fear hidden in them. Being exorcised is about as bad as being dead for demons, and I can tell that this one's about to take off. Yes, I rather the ungodly things be exorcised, but leaving is alright at the moment, considering I am lacking a devil's trap.

The black smoke fills the air in the next moment, swirling and trying to find a way to exit, and I sigh, watching it run its course as the rain pelts down on me. Soon enough, the demon is absent, and the possessed man's body drops to the black pavement, blood oozing through his white t-shirt from wounds that the demon had kept hidden.

Dead.

My eyes turn on the girl against the bar's brick wall, and I take a few steps toward her. She presses herself more into the bricks, and shakes her head. I stop my steps, puzzled, and only watch her.

Her body is shaking, maybe with fear, but also maybe with the cold of the rain. She's only wearing a tank top, shorts, and brown boots. Her grey eyes dart everywhere — everywhere except for my direction, and she's running her hands through her weird-colored, tangled hair.

I take note of her busted lips — yes, both of them — her black eye, opposite swollen cheek, bruised forearms, and scraped knees. That demon really did a number on her.

Cautiously, I let the words fall from my lips. "Can I help you?"

Her striking eyes catch mine, and my breath hitches in my throat. There's so much there, so much pain. So much that not even the heavy rain disguises it.

And yet, she doesn't cry, only stares at me with that look on her face. That look of what . . . disbelief? fear?

"You're not real . . ." The whisper escapes her before her eyes close and she slumps over against the pavement.


	2. Chapter 2

I gasp as my body lunges forward, upwards in the bed I'm in. Where am I? Why—?

My hand shoots up to my forehead, and I clench my eyes shut, trying to rid my head of the nightmare I'd just had. Black eyes and horrific grins enter my imagination, and I flinch, opening my eyes once more.

"Aspirin's on the table," a voice says, softly but sternly, and I immediately recognize its owner to be Jack.

I'm still dreaming, but it feels _too real_.

My breath quickens, and I can feel my heartbeat in my ears. _ No, not my heartbeat, _I remind myself_, it's blood._

_"_You're not real," I hiss, racking my brain for ways to tell if I'm dreaming or not. My eyes race to my fingers and I begin counting, saying the numbers out loud for confirmation. "One, two, three . . ." I trail, raising each finger as I go.

"You keep saying that . . ." he muses, but he doesn't sound mocking, more perplexed. "What are you doing?"

I finish counting, and my breath hitches. "No, no, no." I notice the wounds on my arms, red, purple, yellow, and green creating a rainbow on my pale skin, and I'm reminded of the aspirin on the bedside table. My hand darts out for the two pills and I throw them at the back of my throat, swallowing them promptly. I'd be in pain later if I didn't take them.

Then I stand and notice that I'm barefoot. My boots. Where are my boots?

As soon as I begin to look around, Jack stands. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"Leaving," I answer, remembering all of the pain and death that follows this man and his family.

"You can't leave," he says, standing in front of me, tall, intimidating.

I know he won't hurt me. It goes against his beliefs.

"Why not?" I question, my eyes still darting around for my boots, and maybe my socks.

He purses his lips, then, "Because demons are after you, and we need to find out why."

My gaze shoots towards his. "I _know_ why," I snap, "Where are my shoes?"

I watch as his jaw clenches, his muscles twitching slightly. It's a dangerous look for him, paired with glaring eyes, but it's one he only lives up to when it comes to killing things — _monsters_. He turns and grabs my boots from the floor at the foot of my bed.

_That's_ why I hadn't seen them.

I snatch them from his hand and sit on the bed, slipping my socks on. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jack run a hand through his dark brown hair.

"Then why are they after you, if you know?"

I grab my right boot and pull it on, the laces already undone a comfortable amount. I usually leave the laces untied — feels better that way.

"Because I dream about you and your brothers, sometimes your father," I answer, reaching for my other boot. Pursing my lips, I turn my gaze towards Jack to see his reaction. If anything, he'd probably think I was a witch invading his family's privacy. "They think I know where the two surviving Winchesters are," I add as further explanation.

His eyebrows are furrowed, and his teeth are held together tightly. His look is different from his dangerous gaze earlier, but it is somewhere between that look and confused. "What?"

"I don't know what they want with you—"

"No," he cuts me off, "You _dream_ about us?"

I look down, images flashing in my mind, the awful images I'd been seeing every night for the past three weeks. I'd thought they were just my imagination. I would have never thought they were real, but here was one of them: Jack Winchester.

"The first one was the worst," I mutter.

"What was it about?" he asks.

I close my eyes, remembering the pain, the screaming. But something about the experience seemed personal. It would be wrong of me to spout anything about Jack's brothers that he hadn't been there to experience. It would crush Jack to know of his eldest brother's suffering. I can't do that.

"It got better," I say, ignoring his question, "I'm almost used to it now." I open my eyes and stand up, turning to face him.

He's studying me, his green eyes flitting over my face. There's something there, a tell-all. He knows I'm not fine; he knows I'm not used to it, and I quickly find myself questioning why I thought I could ever lie to a Winchester.

Thankfully, he chooses to ignore the lie. "Well, now you know where I am. If demons get hold of you again —"

"Then leave."

Once again, he purses his lips. The subject quickly returns to my dreaming, and I cringe when he asks, "When did it start?"

"About three weeks ago." I start to move around him, my arms going out to push him aside, but he steps in front of me, blocking my exit. His stance isn't threatening, but it's annoying. Jack's taller than I, and that prevents me from seeing around him. My full attention is forced to be focused on him, and it's infuriating.

"You're not leaving, Eva," he says, and I stiffen at the sound of my name. "Contrary to what you think, you're probably actually safer here, instead of out there, you know, where the demons are."

"How do you know my name?" I hiss, my eyes closing slightly into slits.

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out my father's old wallet that I carried. He hands it to me, and I snatch it from his hands. I don't know what's making me so hostile towards him. I know him; I know who Jack Winchester is, and what his family does. But something has me terrified of everything — all of _this_ — being real.

Yes, demons had been attacking me for the past two weeks, but I hadn't known they were demons. I hadn't _known anything_ until last night. All I knew was what I dreamt, and what these crazy people coming after me had questioned me about. I'd gone to the police, but every person I'd turned in was dead the next morning. Old hosts dead, new hosts alive and ready to torment me, I guess. But it had never occurred to me that the _Winchesters_ were real or that _demons_ were real, and the reality of it all as it struck me now horrified me.

My thoughts returning to the subject at hand, I shove the wallet into my back pocket. "You went through my personal property," I state. There's no surprise in my voice, but maybe some level of disdain.

Then I recall all of his words. "And what do you mean I'm 'safer here'? Everywhere you go, you find trouble, and you're trying to tell me I'd be better off here?"

"Yes, Eva, that's exactly what I'm trying to tell you," he says, his voice calm, but I can hear frustration lying under his words, "Think about it: the demons aren't going to stop, until—"

"Until I give up your location," I finish.

His eyebrows arch, as if he's about to call my bluff. "Are you planning on it?"

"No. I never know where any of you actually are."

I watch as his shoulders slide down. He was holding his breath. Interesting — he'd actually been worried about my answer. I frown, realizing I've lost my only leverage.

"Okay," he says, "so really they're not going to stop until you're dead, Eva. I can make sure that doesn't happen."

"How?" I question, "By salting the windows and doors and keeping me locked up in a hotel room for the rest of my life?"

He furrows his brows, and I take note that a lot of his expression is shown in his forehead rather than his lips and eyes. Different.

"No, we're going to find out why you're having these dreams."


End file.
